


Moments Between Us

by Captains_Orders



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Choking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/pseuds/Captains_Orders
Summary: Bits and pieces of the strange relationship Cor and Titus have fallen into.A collection of Drabbles from tumblr prompts and the like.Rated T-M





	1. Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I should have my little fics on more than just tumblr so here's the collection. Just some writings for these two that aren't That Which Fades.  
> My notes for the chapters will pretty much just be the prompts they're based off. 
> 
> Prompt: "Never trust a survivor until you learn what they did to stay alive."

Heavy uneven breathing was the only sound to break the silence between them. Titus inhaled slowly, letting his body calm after their frantic coupling as his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. Something that had been happening more frequently as of late. Beside him Cor was still panting, a now familiar sound that lulled him into an odd state of contentment that made his tongue loose. 

“Do you have any regrets?” Cor snorted a breathy chuckle and though Titus wasn’t looking at him he knew the man was shaking his head. 

“You’re really asking that now? Your timing is impeccable.”

“Not about this,” he assured quickly. They were far past that now. “About your life, your past, things you can’t change…” The bed creaked as Cor shifted to face him, but Titus kept his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the nonsensical patterns of the plaster absentmindedly. 

“Of course,” came the easy reply. “I regret not getting to better know my father, not spending more time with my mother. I was arrogant and audacious in my youth, and I regret not seeing how foolish I was until my pride was stripped the hard way. But I accept them and keep going.” He paused for a long moment, and Titus was almost tempted to spare him a glance, but he kept staring at the ceiling until it seemed to blur. “Everyone has regrets, it's part of what makes us who we are,” Cor finished and Titus ached. 

“What if they’re harder to admit?” Titus swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, but the words were out, falling from his lips with a rare freedom. “There was an old man in the village the refugees from mine fled to, he welcomed most with open arms except the warriors. And when it came to me, with my wounds hardly scabbed, he said something that stayed with me. He said ‘Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive’. My life is filled with so many regrets. You don’t know. You don’t know the things I’ve done-” There was a confession on the tip of his tongue but Cor interrupted him before he could bare all his sins. Probably for the best. 

“Your past is the past,” he said, shifting once more until he was hovering over Titus with a hand against his chest. “Whatever you did, whatever you regret, you survived and that means something.” 

“How can you trust me when you don’t know?” Titus asked, searching those light eyes for an answer he couldn’t find. Cor smiled softly and simply kissed him deep and hard before pulling away completely. The bed dipped as Cor stood, Titus watched him, taking in the sight of bare skin as Cor stretched with an appreciative hum. 

“You’re a good man, Drautos, whatever your past holds,” he said and Titus held back the wince, suddenly guilt ridden like he hadn’t been for a long time. But Cor left him no time to dwell on it or retreat. “‘I’m going to clean up,” he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way across the room, pausing at the door and gave Titus a raised brow over his shoulder. “The shower is big enough for two.” Then he winked and slipped into the bathroom before Titus could form a retort.  


He weighed his options for a moment, long enough for the sound of running water to make it to his ears and conjure images far more tempting than they should be. Despite the dark feelings within him he couldn’t shake the temptation, ever a moth drawn to the flame. With an exasperated sigh at his own lack of restraint Titus followed, content to let his regrets lie for now.


	2. Nearly Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A 'I almost lost you kiss'

Perched on a hillside away from the battle below the sniper searched for his next target. Better up here than down there, where those Kingsglaive soldiers warped about with all their magic. Red amidst all the black caught his attention, and he focused on the figure, steadying his scope. Perfect.

“Commanding officer in sight.” 

“Yeah, the Captain is always on the field-” his companion kept speaking, but he was too busy lining up his sights to pay any attention to him. 

“Taking the shot,” he announced, his scope painting a perfect target on the man’s head. 

“What?! No you idiot!” His companion lunged, throwing off the aim as the sniper fired, but if the silence that followed was anything to go by, he’d hit his mark. 

And he would pay dearly for it.

~X~

The battle was swiftly turning in their favor. Every counter pushed Niflheim back further and further. Titus expected nothing less, but it was pleasing to see the Glaives near another victory.

“Luche, what’s the word from the East squadron?”

“Looks good on that end, seems like we might-” whatever Luche planned to say next was lost to his sudden shout. 

Glauca clawed beneath his skin as Titus staggered back, the bullet tearing into his shoulder. His focus narrowed to the struggle within himself, using every ounce of his strength and will to keep Glauca contained as it tried to protect him. 

“Captain Drautos is down. This is Luche calling for a full retreat. Rendezvous at my position. Repeat Captain Drautos is down. ” Distant and frantic, something Titus could hardly hear over the monster screaming in his head. At least if he died now it would be better than revealing himself too soon. He was unaware of the violent thrashing of his body, all he knew was that he was suddenly tired, and he could rest now for a little while. 

Then Titus heard nothing.

~X~

Cor strode through the halls of the Citadel with a purpose and the niggling feeling that something was wrong. Clarus did not summon him for such audiences often, let alone with such need for secrecy. It almost made him nervous. He reached the office in record time, knocking once before Clarus beckoned him in. The king’s sworn Shield did not use the space often, and it was obvious in the way the room felt almost stagnant. His old friend looked grim, head resting atop laced fingers, elbows propped on the cluttered desk, and his brow furrowed.

“Take a seat, Cor.”

“What’s going on, Clarus? You’re not usually one for such secrecy.” But he sits as Clarus asked, somehow keeping still.

“The Kingsglaive have been forced to retreat from their assault in Leide. Captain Drautos has been injured, and the way the Glaive that contacted us put it I fear he might not recover.” 

“Might not recover?” Cor replied with a frown as he tried to process the words. 

“We need to prepare for the worst,” Clarus said. “If he dies, I want you to take charge of the Glaive, at least temporarily. You have more experience with them than the rest of the Crownsguard, and Drautos trusts you. I’ve already discussed it with Regis.” Letting that sink in was hard, the whole business was harder than it should have been. Thinking of Drautos dying was… unpleasant. 

“I will do whatever His Majesty requires of me, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“So do I, old friend,” Clarus sighed, “so do I.”

~X~

They brought him in as dusk settled over Insomnia, rushing right to the Citadel so the private doctors there could tend to the Captain of the Glaives in secrecy. A local hospital would have been quicker, but the matter was delicate and best not broadcasted to the people until things were sure. No need to put the people into a grief stricken panic in the middle of the night. Cor would have been present even if he didn’t need to be, as it stood he had an excuse with his task of wrangling the nervous Glaives. Cut off the head of the snake and the body will follow, and the present Glaives were doing just that, nervous energy buzzing from each and every one of them. The others had been ordered to return to their headquarters, Cor’s next stop once he was finished here, and he felt more burdened than he’d felt in years. Drautos was pale when they unloaded him, and Cor tried not to stare as the doctors swiftly wheeled him away from his soldiers on a stretcher.

“Glaives!” The five soldiers stopped and stood at immediate attention, but their expressions remained uneasy. Two of them he knew, Luche the unofficial second in command, and the young mage Crowe who was open in her dislike of him, the Glaive medics with them escaped his knowledge and the driver had a familiar face he couldn’t place a name to. “With me, we’re heading to your HQ.”

“What about the Captain?” Luche said, glancing at the Citadel entrance and back to him. 

“Captain Drautos is in good hands,” he assured them as much as himself. “He’s strong, he’ll pull through.” There was a knot in his chest, and he hoped the words were true. Shoving his worry aside, Cor moved to the waiting van and the Glaives followed mutely. As they drove Luche recounted what happened and Cor listened in rapt silence as worry gnawed at his gut. 

“What do we do now, sir?” Crowe asked when the pulled into the HQ’s garage, and it was the first time she’d ever addressed him with any sort of formality. Outside the van windows he could see the rest of the Kingsglaive waiting nervously for word. 

“For now we wait, and hope for the best.”

~X~

Under the fluorescent lights of the Citadel’s medical ward Drautos looked pale. The doctors insisted he would be fine, that he was recovering from his wound at a remarkable rate, but Cor remained anxious. Drautos had been out for two days, soon three if he slept much longer if the clock on the wall had anything to say about it. Cor read through the report in his lap again even though he’d already memorized it. This was the first visit he’d allowed himself, and really he should have already been gone, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet.

Suddenly the machines Drautos was hooked up to began beeping frantically, and Cor’s attention went back to the hospital bed instantly. Drautos was waking up, eyes fluttering open to the bright room and grey ceiling above and Cor watched what could only be described as terror fill those eyes. He was up from the chair and across to the bed in an instant. The beeping quicked with his breath as Drautos lurched forward in a panic, hand frantically making to rip the IV from his arm. Cor snatched his wrist in an iron grip before the damage could be done.

“Drautos stop, it's alright. You’re in the Citadel. It’s just us.” He kept his voice low and soothing and he watched the dazed expression on the other man’s face slacken and calm as Drautos met his gaze. His breath evened out and the incessant beeping beside them returned to normal before it could draw the medical staff’s concern. 

“What happened?” 

“You were shot, sniper fire on the field, the Glaive’s called a retreat and rushed you here. You’ve been out for almost three days, but they say you’re healing fast,” Cor said, dropping his gaze to his hands, and Drautos grunted like that was the answer he expected. 

“Just another scar,” he replied, and Cor heard the rustle of cloth as Drautos likely rubbed at his bandaged shoulder. 

“We thought you were going to die, Drautos,” Cor snapped, and their eyes met for a long and tense moment. 

“What’s another casualty, Leonis?” And they crashed into each other like they always seemed to do. The kiss was bruising, a rough meeting of lips that Cor clung to desperately. He’d almost lost him, and that was a dangerous thought, and it was dangerous how much desperation lied in that one kiss. Cor pulled away from it harshly like the motion would sever the feeling. Much to his dismay, it didn’t. 

“The Kingsglaive can’t afford to lose you,” he snapped, and then he turned on his heel and walked away. “I must inform the king.” Not giving Drautos a chance to answer he was out of the room before he could change his mind about leaving or say anything that could ruin everything.


	3. Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Rough Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E

It’s always like this. A craving, a invite, all growing more frequent as this thing between them dragged on. Not that he was complaining, not when Drautos was naked and wanting and pushing him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Cor snakes a hand around the back of his neck and drags him down for a deep probing kiss, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and tugging as he pulls away. Drautos practically growls, a deep hungry sound, hands grasping his hips and pushing back until Cor is pinned to the bed under his weight. Just where he wanted to be. 

Pleasure flares where their hips meet, rutting against each other as Drautos nips at his ear. He tries to steal a kiss but Drautos is already trailing down, teeth grazing skin as he goes until he reaches the base of his neck. There he lingers for a moment, hot breath tickling against flesh until Cor shudders, and then he brings his mouth down and sucks hard. No marks, a rule they’d set for a reason he doesn’t care about now, too busy pressing into the sharp and pleasant sting. A clever quip dies on his tongue as Drautos trails lower and all he can do is moan when the man takes his nipple between his teeth and lavishes it with hot wet attention. Damn him but he’d learned all the places that drove him wild. Cor arches into the touch, fingers grasping at short hair. Desperate for more he bucks his hips up until Drautos tightens his grip to something near bruising and pins him to the bed. 

When he finally lets up Cor is panting, can feel the flush beneath his skin, knows he must look absolutely debauched. If the hunger in the other man’s eyes is anything to go by it's a good look. Cor grins, wolffish and teasing as he lets his hands trail down to broad shoulders before digging his nails into skin as hard as he dares. 

“Is that all you got?” He quips and Drautos gives him a small smirk that’s almost dangerous. A slick finger presses suddenly against his entrance and Cor gasps. Had he really been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed Drautos grab the lube? He isn’t given much time to berate himself for missing much of anything as Drautos circles his entrance with a finger and slips it inside. 

Cor digs his nails into flesh once more as Drautos works him open, fingers curling and prodding until it's too much and not enough. Blunt nails bite skin until Drautos hisses and removes his fingers, reaching to the side until he finds what he was after. Drautos lets go of him to rip the packet open and slip the condom over his length, hard and thick, precum leaking from the head. His mouth waters and he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips, that can wait, all he wants now is Drautos inside him, wants it hard and fast and anything to forget the hell this week has been. 

“Out of taunts?” Drautos says as he slips his arms under Cor’s thighs and brings them close. Cor flexes his hands against the broad back above him, digs in his nails, raking them up over the imperfections of old jagged wounds until he stops at the collar bones, pink lines welting up in his wake. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” he demands.

Any control Drautos had left snaps like an over taut band. He rears back, feet planting firmly on the ground as he drags Cor back down the bed with him until their hips are flush and Cor can feel him nudging at his entrance. With an easy hard glide Drautos enters him, that iron grip back on his hips, lifting them enough to create an angle that has him hitting impossibly deep. With his legs spread like this there’s little he can do but ride the pleasure, savoring every rough thrust. His right hand drops to give attention to his neglected cock while the other claws at every part of Drautos he can reach. His patchwork of scars now crisscrossed by pink lines, almost seeming to ripple across flexing skin as Drautos fucks him into the mattress. 

With how rare it is for them to fuck face to face Cor intends to savor it. He’s hardly let his head fall back to simply enjoy the ride when Drautos hisses, a pained sound, slowing for just a moment before resuming his brutal pace. Cor’s hand freezes on the spot and he looks up to see the blossom like bullet scar on his hip. There’s a small tender patch of skin at the center, and Cor knows his nail must have caught the edge of the ruined skin too hard. Featherlight he lets his fingers ghost across the scar, soothing as much as he can. It’s the wrong thing to do and damn if he shouldn’t know better. 

Like a viper Drautos stikes out, the sudden grip on his arm just shy of painful and Drautos pins it to the bed above his head with ease. The angle shifts, Cor’s leg forced to stretch and bend until it's slung over a shoulder as Drautos presses impossibly close. Cor sees stars. Oh it's good like this, exactly what he needed, always what he needs. Drautos bites at his shoulder and he bites at the sheets, stifling a cry as Drautos nails his prostate with a particularly hard thrust. He can feel himself nearing that edge, and though it's hard to work his cock with the limited space he does what he can, fast jerks that bring him that much closer. On a whim he tilts his head towards Drautos, brings his mouth to the man’s neck and sucks his own mark against the skin, just barely low enough to be hidden by his uniform. That’s all it takes, Drautos bucks harsh in response and Cor shatters, vision blurring at the edges as he comes between them, coating his hand in his own release, slumping boneless to the mattress. After a handful of thrusts Drautos follows, tensing above him as he rides out his orgasm with shallow movements until he stills completely. 

It only lasts for a moment. Drautos disentangles them as gently as he can before pulling out, leaving Cor with his legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. There’s a pleasant burn in his thighs and an ache between his legs as he watches Drautos collect his clothes from the floor. Lingering lines of pink catch the light, marks he put on the man’s skin, marks he hope will linger, and Cor feels something roll through him like a storm. It’s always like this, Drautos always flees in the aftermath, but Cor at least knows they’ll both feel this tomorrow, and that will be enough.


	4. The Comfort of a Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cor and Titus leaning on each other.

What a day. What a damn day. Cor lets out a long sigh when the door to the training room closes behind him. He’s tired, worn out and stretched thin, barely keeping his eyes open now that he has a moment to breathe. When he shuffles his way to the usual bench the energy leaves him, and instead removing his jacket in preparation he simply sits. At the other end of the room the weapon rack practically taunts him and he ignores it by putting his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples in some futile attempt to ease the stressed ache between his eyes. 

He doesn’t look up when the door opens and closes. 

“You don’t look well, Marshal,” Titus says. Cor looks up to see him standing near the door, brows slightly furrowed. 

“It's…” he falters on an explanation. There’s too much for him to care to explain and some things he dare not say. “It’s been a long few days.” Titus hums and approaches the bench, looking at him for a long moment, his expression impossible to read like it so often is. 

“What was that you said about taking a break before wearing yourself out?” Cor huffs.

“That’s more of a suggestion, we don’t always have such luxuries.” 

“No,” Titus replies quietly. “we don’t.” 

For a long while they sit in somber silence, staring off into space while their thoughts stew. It’s comforting in a way, but selfishly he wants more. Cor contemplates it for a moment and then decides to take a chance and close the distance between them. Slowly he leans his head against a broad shoulder and breathes deep. Titus stiffens instantly at the touch, a reaction he’s come to expect and anticipate at the mere hint of anything tender. He braces to be shrugged off, but before he can move away Titus is relaxing. So Cor breathes deep, relishing the scent of him as he presses his face against the worn leather of the cape beneath his cheek. Eventually Titus leans back against him, a firm comforting presence, and Cor feels the tension leave him with each breath they share.


	5. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Do you like it when I touch you like that?” / Interrupted Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E

“Ah! There, just like that,” Cor can’t hold back the gasp that follows and his grip tightens on the sheets beneath him. Titus heeds him, snapping his hips again and Cor has to bite back a moan. A sneaking hand trails up from his hip to his chest and Cor jerks back as Titus pinches his nipple. There’s no keeping quiet then. 

"Do you like it when I touch you like that?" Hot breath ghosts against his ear and he shudders. It was a rare treat for Titus to speak during sex. Usually the man was silent, quiet sounds of pleasure that Cor reveled in hearing, but hearing him speak, voice strained and desperate, that was something else. 

“Yes, you know I do” he replies, little more than a breathy whisper, “now just, keep going... Please.” Maybe he’s begging a bit, but it doesn’t matter. In fact he’d gladly beg for more. 

“Of course,” Titus chuckles, repeating the motion while he fucks him deep, and there’s no need to beg. 

A sharp ringing cuts through the lust and Cor shoots a glare at his phone. Titus slows and stills as the phone rings on and Cor barely catches him with a hand thrown back to his thigh as he makes to pull away. 

“Ignore it, if it’s important they’ll call again.” The look on the man’s face is unsure when Cor glances over his shoulder at him, but soon Titus is moving again and Cor really could care less about the generic tune coming from the bedside table. Until it rings again at least. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath before stretching for his phone and bringing to his ear without checking who exactly was calling him so late at night. “Leonis.”

“Cor, sorry to wake you, but this couldn’t wait.”

“Clarus?” He says, brows furrowing in surprise. Behind him Titus leans close, pressing against his back and biting softly at his shoulder and Cor knows he’s doing his best to eavesdrop. “Is everything alright?” There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“There was a security breach at the Citadel.” His old friend sounds tired in a way he hasn’t heard in a long time, and he can’t help his concern. 

“Is His Majesty alright?” Titus freezes as they both wait to hear the answer. Cor’s breath catching in his throat as the silence drags on for another beat. 

“He’s fine,” Clarus finally says and Cor isn’t sure if he believes him. “I need you here to go over security, and other measures.” 

“Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”   
“Thank you, Cor.” And then the call ends. Cor lets out a sigh and sets his phone back in it's place, but when he makes to move Titus doesn't budge. 

“I have to go, Drautos,” he says, pushing at him again.

“You want me to leave you like this?” A rough hand slides from his waist to settle between his legs, taking his straining cock in a steady grip and giving it one long teasing stroke. Cor hisses between his teeth and barely restrains himself from rutting into Titus for more. 

“I should go.” But the protest is weak to his own ears, his body straining into the touch for more. 

“Let me finish,” Titus offers, twisting his grip in a way that makes him moan. “It’ll be quick.” He plants a kiss to the base of his neck, almost tender, and Cor’s resolve breaks. 

“Please,” is all he can get out but it's enough, it's always enough.

The hand not around his length trails up his back until it reaches the base of his neck, and Titus lets his thumb stroke the skin there for only a moment before his hand shifts and he pushes down. Cor doesn’t resist, lets his face be pressed into the pillows beneath his head, sinks into the vulnerable position almost eagerly. A thrill goes through him, as the angle shifts and Titus gives him no time to adjust before he rears back and thrusts forward hard. A cry catches in his throat as Titus sets a brutal pace that has him driving deep with every snap of his hips. Moans mingle with the slap of skin and Cor knows they’re his, breathy and desperate as Titus works him relentlessly. It won’t be long now, he’s so close he can taste it, toes curling while his fingers clutch at the sheets and damn if Titus didn't mean it when he said it would be quick. Suddenly Titus grinds forward on a downward thrust and the hand around his cock twists over the head as the grip tightens and Cor shatters. Everything fades away for a moment as the pleasure courses through him, hardly registering the high keening cry that falls from his lips as Titus works him through it. 

Cor almost whines when he pulls away, but his business at the Citadel can’t wait and he makes to get up despite his reluctance. There’s a pleasant burn in his muscles when he finally stands and he stretches, glancing at Titus as he does. His companion is already dressing. His shirt is already on and clinging to the sweat on his skin, and his pants are halfway up his legs, and he is definitely still hard.

“Let me,” he says when he gets close and reaches out but Titus catches his wrist before he can touch him.

“It’s fine,” he says, voice strained. Wasn’t that rich considering what just happened between them. “You’ll be late.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later, then,” he whispers once he leans in close and the soft catch in the man’s breathing says what Titus won’t. 

“You should shower,” he says instead, but the way his thumb brushes against Cor’s wrist betrays his show of aloofness. “You smell like sex.” 

“And who’s fault is that?” Cor chuckles, but he pulls away and heads for the bathroom without taking it any further. 

By the time he’s finished Titus is gone, and though he showered in record time Cor knows he’ll be later than he cares to be. With a sigh he makes his way out and to the Citadel and tries not to think too hard on things. And if Clarus gives him an odd look when he arrives he doesn’t pay it any mind.


	6. What Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Someone finding the other wearing their clothes.

Titus wakes to an empty bed and soft sounds from the other room. Cor’s scent still lingers, and something good wafts from outside the bedroom. For a while he simply lays there, breathing deep. No nightmares chased him while he slept, and he’s gone so long without a full night’s rest that he almost doesn’t know what to do about how good he feels. The alarm clock on the bedside table lets him know that it’s horrendously early, a four glaring at him in red, long before either of them need to be at the Citadel. Still he should move. Getting dressed would be a start. Almost regretfully Titus pushes away the warm sheets and rises from the bed, stretching before he searches for his clothes. He finds his pants easy enough, pulling the old soft pair up his hips as he looks around for his shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to abandon the search. He knows exactly where it is.

It steals his breath when he rounds the corner. Cor standing over the stove, humming softly, with Titus’s shirt hanging loosely around his shoulders. The domesticity of it is almost painful and he almost wants to shatter the peace and everything good. But he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t break the spell, not this time. Maybe he can have this, just once. All he needs is once. He steps silently up to the island, leaning on the counter as he watches Cor work.

“Making a habit of stealing my clothes, marshal?”

“It’s comfortable,” Cor shrugs, glancing over his shoulder. “And maybe I like the view.” Something akin to a growl rumbles in his throat and he manages to take a few steps towards the man before Cor stops him with a wave of his spatula. “Not until I’m finished.” There’s something else in his voice, something almost unsure, and Titus knows it, knows it's because he never stays. 

Just this once. 

Titus hums, peering over Cor’s shoulder as he works the omelette in the pan. 

“There’s coffee, I don’t make it much, but mugs are in the cabinet and you’re free to help yourself.” Titus nods, managing to pull himself away without stealing a touch and makes his way to the coffee pot. The mug he grabs from the cabinet is a warm grey, and he fills it nearly to the brim with steaming black coffee, ignoring the ceramic filled with sugarcubes nearby. He sniffs and then takes a sip, unbothered by the heat. 

“Good,” he manages, a little awkward, but Cor smiles as he reaches for his own mug and takes a drink. 

“Mind setting the table? Forks are in the top drawer by the sink.” 

Titus makes to do so without reply, suddenly unable to speak, afraid of what he would say if he did. So he opens the drawer and pulls out two forks, an almost odd sensation between his fingers, and then tears off two paper towels from the holder. Cor shoots him a look but he ignores it in favor of setting the utensils on opposite ends of Cor’s small round dining table. Then he sits, unsure of what else to do, staring between his coffee and Cor, unable to look away from the man for long. There’s something almost mesmerizing about watching him, and Titus knows somewhere it's because it will be the first and last time he allows himself this. Already he’s making sure it is immortalized in his memory, savoring it now. After his darkest nightmares he may call upon this moment, something warm and recent, but he will do it rarely and with an utmost reverence he will not allow himself to acknowledge. There’s a light clang from the kitchen as Cor sets another plate on the counter and lifts the pan and splits the meal between the two easily, breaking the spell. 

A vision in grey he makes his way to the table with the two plates, setting one before Titus before sitting in his own seat across from him. Cor watches him with a carefully blank expression, but Titus can see the expectant gleam in his eyes. It smells amazing, better than anything he’s fed himself in too long to remember. He takes a bite and groans.

“Delicious,” he says, and cuts himself off from saying anything else by shoveling another mouthful of food. There’s a pleased sound from Cor, and then they eat in silence. 

When they’re finished, Titus takes his empty plate to the kitchen, standing at the sink longer than necessary as he tries to think. Ceramic clinks as Cor adds his own dish to the sink, moving around him to start the water and rinse them off. Neither of them speak, but Cor brushes closer and Titus turns his head and accepts the kiss. Almost tender, but not quite, and Titus resists the urge to turn it into something more.

“I’ll be right back,” Cor says softly when they part, breath ghosting across his lips and his tongue darts out to chase the feeling as he nods. 

His head clears when Cor’s gone, and he takes a deep shuddering breath before making for the door, lacing his boots and waiting there. Cor returns shortly, in his own sleep clothes with Titus’s shirt in his hand. He holds it out and Titus takes it, puts it on before he can change his mind. 

He’s halfway out the door when Cor stops him. 

“Thank you,” he says, and the open vulnerability there makes Titus look back. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

There’s nothing he can say, but he offers a smile, small, tender, and without joy. It’s all he has to give, but it is enough.


	7. Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Titus reading/reciting his favorite poem or quote to Cor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E
> 
> The headcanon that deep down Titus Drautos is a romantic who enjoys poetry is one I won't give up.

Cor’s room is the same as it has been, but Titus looks around out of habit all the same. A soft green cover on the bedside table catches his attention, and he pulls away from the insistent kisses Cor keeps pressing against his neck to get a better look. Familiar words line the cover and he can’t help his curiosity. It steals his attention from the man in his arms easily.

“What is it?”

“Markena and the Great Poets of Eos,” Titus reads aloud as he steps fully away and reaches for the book. It's a newer copy of the old classic, not like the one he had back home, but there’s an odd comfort from feeling it in his hand, like he can pretend his life is as simple as it was when he first read it. 

“Oh, that,” Cor says, coming to stand beside him. “Just something to read before bed, Monica said it would do me some good. Are you familiar with it?” Titus hums, leafing through the pages delicately. Maybe it's the shock of seeing the old book again but Titus feels open about the subject, his usual guard gone for now, and he doesn’t care to get it back.

“Very, I used to read it constantly when I was a boy. Barshel was my favorite,” he pauses, the memories stinging suddenly. “I haven’t read it in years, I lost my copy when I was eighteen.” Not a complete lie, in truth it had simply been left behind with everything else when he’d stepped onto that Niflheim ship. Titus shakes his head, he won’t think about that now.

“Barshel?”

“He wrote poems about chivalry and fantastical things, love and war, the sort of stories boys read when they’re still young enough to believe them.”

“I never took you for a romantic,” Cor teases, sitting on the edge of the bed near the table and looking up at him with humor dancing in his eyes. 

“We’ve all got our secrets.”

“Fair enough,” Cor snorts. “Maybe you can give me a recommendation, I’m not very far, really I didn’t even know where to start. Do you have a favorite for me to try?” 

Titus flips back to where a simple bookmark holds Cor’s place on one of Markena’s sonnets and thinks. His suggestions leave him when Cor moves to sit with his back against the headboard, feet crossed at the ankles, the lamp beside him casting a warm glow on his bare chest. Suddenly he remembers why they were here in the first place, and it definitely wasn’t reading. Book still in hand he gets one knee on the bed, nudging Cor’s thighs apart until he can rest his weight between them, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. 

“How about this,” he says, free hand splaying over Cor’s stomach as his eyes flick over the once familiar words. “Warmth beneath my eager hand,” he reads aloud, tracing his hand up. Cor shudders beneath him.

“Trying to seduce me with poetry? That’s new,” he chuckles, breathy and low, cheeks already dusting with pink. 

“Well it seems to be working,” Titus replies, circling a nipple with his thumb before moving on to the next line. “My lips leave a scorching brand against skin like honey beneath my tongue.” He drops his head against Cor’s collarbone and licks, sucking the pale skin there just shy of leaving a mark. Cor arches beneath him, gasping at the touch. “Touch like fire tracing down, until I take him in my hand.” His fingers slip beneath the waistband of Cor’s sweatpants and a soft moan leaves Cor as Titus wrap his fingers around his cock. “Velvet soft and hard as stone.” He tightens his grip and Cor claws at his shoulders.

“Drautos,” Cor pants, practically squirming beneath his touch. “Stop teasing.” 

“I haven’t gotten to the best part,” he says, not letting up on his torturous touch and grinning all the while. 

“Drautos,” Cor warns, a mix between a growl and a mewl, and oh what a sound that is.

“So impatient.” He looks back at the book in his hand, committing the rest to memory before setting it aside. When he pulls away it's only to tug Cor’s pants down his legs and remove his own, getting what he needs from the bedside drawer before he leans close, lips almost pressed to Cor’s ear. His hands ready and tease as he recites the rest in a whisper, and when they finally come together Cor cries out and the rest of the poem is forgotten as limbs shift and tangle and Titus fucks him into the mattress. 

After, they lay sated side by side, and Titus doesn’t flinch away when Cor draws absent patterns against his chest. Just this once, he tells himself, the same mantra he’s come to use more and more when it comes to the man beside him. Just this once he’ll allow such intimacy. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, lets himself stay in the now and ignores the future. 

“You never told me what your favorite poem was,” Cor muses, breath tickling his shoulder. 

“I was distracted.” He can’t fully shrug, but the short movement is there and Cor hums in amusement. 

“Do you remember it?” He shifts his weight to look down at Cor, arm still trapped beneath his head. Their eyes meet, and Titus looks away, in part to break the spell, and in part to call the old words to him. 

“It used to be some poem about a knight when I was a boy. That changed after…” He pauses, doesn’t elaborate, but Cor’s silence is understanding, and he continues. “Hm, how did it start? Calm? No.” He looks back at Cor, and the look in his eyes makes the words come easy, and he hardly falters. Eyes closing only to focus, he recites the poem, only stumbling a bit. 

“Docile dreams on waking brings a peace which isn’t mine.  
A wish like summer, warm and fleeting, gone when given time.  
It tells me then, the wind the breeze, how foolish be my dreams.  
For that which fades is always gentle,  
And that which stays is hard as stone.  
I myself shall ever linger, weathering the greatest storms.  
And if my heart shall falter.  
I will soldier on.  
For that is what I am,  
And there is nothing beyond.”

He falls silent, tongue suddenly leaden in his mouth, and turns his head away. He’s left himself raw and exposed, but his urge to run clashes with the comfort so he remains still. 

“I can see why you like it,” Cor says, voice quiet and thoughtful, and Titus looks back at him to see a new strange look in his eyes. “It reminds me of you.” A hand comes up so fingers can thread through his short hair, and Cor’s thumb brushes the corner of his scruffy jaw. “Sad, but deeper than that, more...” Cor trails off, swallows, and tightens the grip in his hair. 

He opens his mouth, and Titus silences him with a deep and probing kiss, refusing to hear Cor’s answer, afraid of what he’d do. Instead they kiss, back to their typical harsh passion, and his head swirls with things left unsaid, and the poetry that could describe his foolish wants and whims, and the feel of Cor’s body beneath his.


	8. Trembling Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober prompt: Trembling hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up more angst filled then I thought this prompt would be...

His footsteps echo loudly in the cold grey halls of Zegnautus, endlessly twisting and turning with no sign of an end. Why did he come back? There was a reason he came back, but he doesn’t remember it. A door opens to his left, and he catches a glimpse of MT clones inside, he keeps walking. All the doors are open now, various scenes playing out that he doesn’t interrupt, that's not why he’s here. Why is he here? Caligo Uldor scowls out at him as he passes another room, and he almost stops, but that's not it, not why he’s here. Then the hallway ends abruptly with a closed door blocking his path. This is it, this is why he’s come. His hands are trembling as he opens the door, and the urge to slam it closed again is almost too strong to fight. There’s a body on the floor, one he knows, doesn’t understand. 

“Ah, Drautos! So glad you could make it!” Ardyn Izunia spreads his arms in a mockery of a warm greeting. “This is your history after all.” Two scientists scuttle by them and lift the body with only some trouble, the head drops forward, a mess of dark hair hiding the face as the scientist drag it away, leaving the blood and tools behind. 

“Why am I here?” 

“Why are you?” Izunia replies flippantly, he walks around him, twirling a syringe between his fingers. “Perhaps you were just due for a little walk down memory lane, I know how hard you try to forget it. You never do keep in touch with your dear friends here in Niflheim.”

“I have no friends in Niflheim,” he says before he can stop himself. The Chancellor grins. 

“Oh I’m hurt, Drautos, and here I thought you were thankful for all I’ve done. What would dear old dad think?”

“You know nothing of my family,” he snarls, and he calls for Glauca, but no metal bleeds from his skin and he feels suddenly exposed. 

“Oh, my dear Drautos, don’t go biting the hand that feeds you.” He shakes his head almost laughing. “Though I would love to see you try, I do love it when they try.” 

Is this why he’s here? Titus doesn’t think, he just acts, taking the bait. He’s on Izunia in an instant, a hand around his throat. The man has the gall to laugh. 

“Is this how you save your home?” Izunia manages to wheeze out, still grinning even as Titus tightens his grip.

“I’ll find a way,” he growls, his free hand joining the first until he’s well and truly throttling the smaller man and still Ardyn Izunia grins. 

“Oh, Drautos-” Titus cuts him off with more pressure, and he feels something hit his leg hard. “Drautos, please!” So quite and desperate now. Just a little more and then he’s free. Nails bite into his wrists, but the Chancellor remains still, that grin still in place even as his face turns red from lack of oxygen. Something hits him in the head, weak but jarring. It wouldn’t be long now. 

“Titus!” He wakes suddenly at the sound of his name so starkly different from before, dazed and still lost in the movements of the dream. His eyes focus, and his blood runs cold. Cor looks up at him with something that can only be fear in his eyes, face turning blue, hands tight against his wrists. Titus let's go in an instant and throws himself to the side, scrambling until he drops to the floor and stays there. On the bed Cor gasps for air loudly and Titus feels his own breathing stutter an erratic rhythm. Hands trembling he sits there staring off into space, trying to ground himself. It was a dream, it had all been a dream, and he’d almost killed a man for it, had almost killed Cor. Even his worst nightmares have never been so visceral, so physical. It was all a dream.

“Titus?” Cor’s voice cracks on the vowels, a hand coming to rest against his shoulders and he flinches, shuddering violently. Deep breaths, even, count, stay in the now. 

“Don’t,” he says desperately, unable to look at the other man. How can he when he’s nearly strangled him in his own bed. Titus shudders again at the thought of Cor waking up to his hands around his neck with deadly intent, caught unaware and almost helpless. The bed creaks and he knows Cor is sitting there above him. 

“Drautos...” A hand touches his shoulder and he flinches away. Cor gets up, steps around and then crouches in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders. “Drautos, look at me.” After a long moment he does, Cor’s face is drawn tight in concern, bruises already blooming in the shape of his fingers on his neck and Titus turns his head away. 

“I could have killed you.” The reality is terrifying, and he refuses to analyze his feelings. He feels sick because he almost did it in his sleep, like killing has become as easy as breathing, because Cor didn’t have a chance to fight back, because no man deserves to die like that. 

“You weren’t yourself.” Titus scoffs. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, and then quiets again, still shaking. “How can you even look at me?” Cor sighs.

“Because the second you realized what was happening you stopped, and the look on your face… Shit, Drautos.” Cor’s hands drift to his cheeks, urging him to lift his head and meet his eyes again. “I’m alive. The nightmares’ over. It’s alright.” And then Cor is holding him, a gentle hand combing through his hair, and Titus clings to him, grounding himself in the sound of Cor’s heartbeat beneath his ear. “What happened to you?” Cor whispers against his hair, almost too quiet to hear. Titus doesn’t answer, just breathes him in and tries to tell himself that it's okay. 

The stay like that for a long time, holding each other on the floor, until Titus finally feels himself calm and the shame finds him tenfold. Cor doesn’t stop him when he pulls away and moves to start getting dressed. They don’t speak, there’s nothing left to say. There are no goodbyes when Titus slips out the door.


	9. The Sweetest Seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap.

Cor pours another glass of bourbon nearly to the brim, ice clinking in his glass as he lifts it to sip at the excess. Satisfied he moves away from the counter, returning to the armchair where Titus sits and drinks and waits for him. Without speaking he lifts his knee onto the chair, nestled snug between the man’s thigh and the armrest. Titus arches a brow, but does nothing to stop him, just takes one last sip of his own drink before setting it aside on the nearby end table as Cor sets a steadying hand on his broad shoulder and settles over him. Now seated in the larger man’s lap Cor shoots him a heated stare over the rim of his glass and drinks deeply before putting it down rather haphazardly. 

“Comfortable?” Titus’s voice is low as those calloused hands settle on his hips, thumbs teasing up under the end of his shirt. 

“I can think of better places to sit,” Cor replies with a teasing grin but leans down to meet Titus for a kiss. Beneath him Titus shifts, tilts his head up to meet him, hands tightening around his hips and bringing him closer. 

Cor hums against his mouth as their hips align and he rocks down, grinding their hardening lengths together until Titus deepens the kiss with a pleased rumbling deep in his chest. He loses himself easily, lets Titus into his mouth so their tongues brush and their breath mingles. Strong hands shift across his back, one caressing the back of his neck to guide his head as they kiss again, the other dipping under his shirt to splay his fingers against skin. Cor catches Titus’s tongue gently between his teeth and sucks, grinding his hips down as he does it. Titus groans, pulling him closer, pressing into the kiss like it's all he needs. Neither of them push for more, a rarity between them, but Cor enjoys this simple pleasure while it lasts, the feel of Titus’s plush lips against his, the way their mouths meet and part with practiced ease. There’s something about kissing Titus Drautos that he can’t get enough of, something that he craves just as much as their more sexual intimacy. Finally he pulls away, hips still rocking against the hardness between his legs, breathing heavy. Titus stills him with a hand on his ass, grip firm enough to hold him still as his lips trail past his cheek. 

“Perhaps we should move this out of the chair,” Titus breathes next to his ear. “I’m starting to stick to the leather.” A laugh spills from him before he can stop it, and he presses his face into Titus’s neck to hide his amusement.

“Hm, I don’t know, Captain, I’m rather comfortable now,” he says and then emphasises the point with another downward rock of his hips. Titus inhales sharply and shoots him a heated look. 

“Nothing I can do to change your mind, Marshal?” Titus throws back at him, that sort of teasing Cor rarely coaxes out of him and he plays at being thoughtful for only a moment and then leans in close until their noses brush. 

“Kiss me again and ask me after,” he murmurs. After a few seconds worth of hesitation Titus does, deep and all consuming. A promise for what was to come.


End file.
